My beautiful baby boy Bob is gone. He was 28 and we were together for 25 years. Sunday he fell down. We got him up and into his stall where he rested and seemed to be improving. He laid down Monday morning, got up after a struggle, and I knew it was time. His hind end just couldn’t support him. Dr. Heinze, his vet of decades, helped him cross the bridge. Bob knew no pain or fear. He left happy and peppy and bursting with love, eating carrots until the end. His death was peaceful.
I cannot stop crying. The outpouring of love and support from our friends is truly amazing.
Dr. Heinze said we can treat the symptoms but we can’t treat old age. Old age ain’t no place for sissies and he was strong til the end, but some fights cannot be won.
Bob was not a brave horse. He would snort and shy during shedding season when he saw his hair on the aisle floor. Last month the light switch for his stall broke (oh, because he likes to rub his neck on the box and get his itchy spot). I took a small penlight, the size of my little finger, into his stall to check his waterer. Thank goodness I had him out of the stall when I turned it on because apparently he thought it was some giant searchlight alien beaming down on him. Freak out. However, the tractor could drive under his nose and he didn’t care.
We did dressage, aka ballet on horseback. He was a natural, far more talented a mover than I am a rider. He wasn’t easy to ride–I had to ask for everything, but when he gave, it was beautiful. He was stunning to watch move in the pasture. He had a great sense of humor. He had a group of friends he liked to pester. Pester just enough to be ever so slightly annoying. He would hold someone’s tail in his teeth. Not pull back, but just hold, so that when that someone walked away he couldn’t get far. He liked to face fight and was doing that Sunday just before he couldn’t do it any longer.
His face was always bright and happy and a joy to see peeking out of his stall. He was incredibly good natured. He took treats good, just used his lips. Never tried to nip or kick. Walked nicely beside me, never pulled. I could walk him on the end of the lead rope like a dog. 28 is a good long life for a horse. Anything over 25 is a gift from God. He lived at the same barn the whole time I had him and it is a perfect barn for horses. Not so much for people, but the way the barn is run it is optimal for horses. We have several horses in their late 20s and early 30s. We refer to it as the Del Webb of boarding barns.
I know I did the right thing. I never wanted him to be in pain or suffer. I never wanted his last day to be his worst. I’m not second guessing myself at all. I knew it would hurt, but I didn’t know it would hurt this much. My refuge, either during happy times or sad times, was always the barn. And now it isn’t.
I’m sorry for your loss. Bob sounds like an awesome buddy, and with any luck he’s not taken up with any bad influences like my old pony. If someday you get to the other side of the Bridge and Bob can pick locks, it’s the fault of the little buckskin who’s refusing to move because someone is pulling on his lead rope.
So sorry for your loss. He sounds like a funny guy who had a splendid long life with you and enjoyed life to the very last. No horse (or human) could ask for more. My old mare Hello Again will watch out for him - she weren’t scared of nothing. Oh and she’s biting the buckskin pone on the butt to make him go, cause she also couldn’t abide stragglers.
Our horses make us who we are and losing them is losing a piece of ourselves. Take care of yourself.
peedin - I remember when I lost my mare, back before I bought my farm. I truly didn’t know how not to go to the barn every night after work and care for her. I didn’t know how to be horseless. And I wasn’t horseless for long.
Eh, he’ll go as soon as whoever’s pulling on the lead rope lets go and walks away, and everyone’s clear on just whose idea this whole moving thing is. And if she’s not nice, he won’t spring her from the stall when he goes on his midnight attempts to raid the corn crib. Then again, maybe Og can devise a door fastening the little bugger can’t figure out in a couple weeks. We certainly never could.
I’m sorry for your loss, though I admit I smiled at the thought of a horse shying at his own shed fur. Then again, I have two long-haired cats, so if they did that they’d have had multiple heart attacks by now.
Glad you were strong enough to make the right decision. May 2014 treat us all a bit better.
28 years is a good long run. You made the right decision, dodgy back legs must be distressing for a horse.